Make You Miss Me by B. Celeste

CHAPTER ELEVEN

September comes and goes, and then most of October. It’ll be Halloween in a matter of weeks, and the school is already decorated with black and orange banners, paper pumpkins, fake spiderwebs, and even hay bales outside the main entrances.

It makes me think about the times I’d taken Hunter’s nieces trick or treating and watched them dance around in their costumes going door to door. They always had the time of their lives collecting as much candy as possible, even giving me some which I would have never done as a child. Toward the end of my marriage, it’d gotten harder to go with them even though it’d become a tradition. Seeing them hold hands and skip down the sidewalks and demand pictures while they posed together in their outfits always made me think about my future kids.

The ones I’d brought up on more than one occasion to Hunter without any luck of the conversation going anywhere. There’d been two times when I thought my dream of becoming a mother would become a reality when my period had been late. Two times when hope fluttered in my stomach and danced in my ribcage until I’d taken multiple tests and gotten negative results, then a period in the days following as if Mother Nature was taunting me.

Stress. That’s what my doctor had told me caused the late menstruation. And even though I’d told her I hadn’t been…

I lied.

The year before Hunter and I ended things, I’d told the girls I couldn’t take them. It wasn’t like they didn’t have a ton of other people to go with them. Their mother, Hunter’s sister Samantha, was always there. And on the Halloweens that Sam’s husband Darren wasn’t on duty as a sheriff’s deputy, he’d be there too. Plus, they had Hunter’s and Sam’s mom, my mother-in-law Martha who went along to snap pictures and “ooh” and “aww” at whatever it is they did or got.

I never minded being a tagalong.

Until I did.

I haven’t had this heavy, pitiful feeling sitting on my chest in a long time. When I split with Hunter, I knew I couldn’t keep thinking about it. Being a mom. Because there were more important things to focus on. Healing. Loving myself again. Finding myself.

I’m not sure why it’s back now. The desire for motherhood and affection isn’t quite as strong, but still there. A year ago, Vickie had told me if I really wanted to be a mom I could adopt. It’d been an option I considered, but not one I’d ever thought too seriously about. Especially not alone. She also told me I could have a random one-night stand with someone without protection and hope for the best.

She laughed when I gave her a horrified look, then laughed even harder when I gave her the middle finger.

I blame Hunter’s out-of-the-blue text message for bringing up thoughts I’d let myself forget about for a while. I never texted him back because by the time I’d remembered, almost two days had gone by. Then I thought it’d be weird to reply, so I let it slip my mind again.

Pair that with the kids talking about their Halloween plans with family. It’s really no surprise that I’d suddenly be envious and moody about where I am in life.

Vickie has no problem bringing up my sour mood when we go out for drinks on the weekend. I should have told her I had papers to grade, but she probably still would have dragged me out by my hair. “You need to loosen up and get that look off your face, or you’ll scare off all the men.”

I’ve been nursing a margarita for the past thirty minutes, mostly staring at the liquid in my glass while half paying attention to Vickie’s work drama. Something about her new boss being hot and all the women she works with going out of their way to get his attention.

“Who says I want their attention anyway?” I ask, sipping my drink.

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe you don’t, but I do, and they won’t come over if one of the girls at the table looks like somebody just ran over her dog and then set her house on fire.”

I gape.

She shrugs.

Then I say, “Why don’t you just go after your boss if you want a man that badly?”

She throws a balled-up cocktail napkin at my head, making me laugh and dodge it. “Shut up. Unlike you, I don’t date people I work with.”

I groan, thinking about the kiss I’d shared with Miles before cringing. “One time.”

“One time more than me,” she chirps, grinning when I shoot her a look. “And I don’t necessarily want a man. I just want some fun. We can’t all be hopeless romantics like you. If I have random flings and amazing orgasms for the rest of my life, I’ll have lived a good one.”

I swear the table of men closest to us perk up and glance over in our direction, clearly too interested in Vickie’s proclamation to be scared away by whatever face I’m making.

“I’m not a hopeless romantic.”

She eyes me skeptically.

“Marrying my high school sweetheart doesn’t mean I’m a hopeless romantic,” I argue with an edge to my tone that I’ll probably feel bad about later.

It just means I’m an idiot.

I know better than to add that part.

My hands gesture around us. “And look where that got me. Sitting in a bar being moody when I’d rather be at home.”

“You’d still be moody. You’d just be alone, and where’s the fun in that when I can press your buttons and feed you greasy food and buy you as much alcohol as you want here?”

Considering my clothes are already tight, I don’t need to be indulging in any more greasy food than I already have. Thankfully, I meal prep twice a week to make sure I have healthier options premade that I can quickly heat up or take with me to work, so I’m not ordering delivery all the time like I used to. I’d known how to cook the basics, but Hunter had far better kitchen skills than me and I never argued when he was around to make dinner. Instead, I always poured a glass of wine and watched him.

Since, I’ve learned plenty of easy recipes that are healthy, filling, and most importantly, cheap.

“Maybe I’m just not good company tonight,” I say with a sigh, grabbing my purse and tossing some money on the table. “I’m sorry, Vick, but I think I’m just going to head home.”

She frowns. “I thought we were having a girls’ night? We haven’t seen each other since game night because we’ve both been busy.”

“We can plan something soon, okay? But I want you to have fun, and me sitting around moping for no good reason isn’t exactly thrilling for either of us. Plus—” I subtly eye the cute blond giving her the eyes. “—there’s a very attractive guy on your right. Blond, dimpled smile, and he’s been looking at you for the past few minutes. You should go say hello.”

Nibbling her lip, she casually looks over her shoulder and notices who I’m talking about, then turns back at me. “He is cute, huh?”

I nod. “Very.”

“And you’ll be okay?” she asks, worry in her tone this time.

I smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been wanting to catch up on some shows anyway. Go have fun and text me when you’re home safe.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “If I go home.”

Yeah, she’d be fine.

I give her a hug, wave her goodbye, and walk to my car parked on the furthest end of the parking lot since there weren’t any better spots available by the time I’d gotten here. I was fifteen minutes late, and apparently everyone else wanted to let loose like Vickie and me.

I start digging through my bag to grab my keys when I hear, “Hey, baby.” Scrunching my face at the unfamiliar voice, I look around until I see a man pushing off the side of the bar with a cigarette in his hand and a plume of smoke around him.

I don’t greet him back. Instead, I fist my keys, regretting not having them in my hand already since my trusty mini mace is chained onto it along with a mini flashlight and some random things given to me over the years by family and friends.

“You too good to talk to me?” the stranger asks, his voice irritated and words slightly slurred.

I’m only a few feet from my car, but I’m afraid to turn my back on the man approaching me. “Sorry, I’m just in a bit of a rush.”

If Vickie were here, she’d tell me I was stupid for apologizing to someone like him. Then I’d get a lecture on how women don’t owe men anything, least of all apologies. That is, after she’d tell the man to fuck off before guiding us away. It’s a force of habit, though. When I was little, my mom would get irritated with me for how many times I would apologize. Which only made me do it more by default. And with Hunter? Sometimes I think I said, ‘I’m sorry’ more than, ‘I love you’.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be at a bar like this alone, sweetie,” the man says, stopping a couple feet away with a slimy look on his face.

Sweetie. I probably make a face. I offer him a tight smile. “I’m not alone, actually.”

It’s a stupid thing to say since I’m the only one out here. He looks around slowly, giving me time to inch toward my car. When he glances back at me, his brows arch. “I don’t see anyone else.”

Then he reaches for me.

And I react.

Taking my mace out, I push the button as I aim it at his face. I don’t even think about it before watching him yell and close his eyes as the spray hits him in both. His hand flails, smacking me in the face, whether by accident or not, I’m not sure before he stumbles back and clenches his eyes.

I try ignoring my stinging cheek that he hit and bolt to my car, unlocking it and sliding in as quickly as I can before locking myself inside. The man is still stumbling around, cursing, and saying other things I can’t really understand when I start the car and quickly drive away.

I don’t look back as I drive home, trying to remember my even breaths as I fight off tears from adrenaline.

I just maced somebody.

Oh my God.

I’m not quite sure how I get back to the house. I just sort of drove on autopilot, not really paying attention the whole way here. But all of a sudden, I’m sitting in my driveway, car parked, with my hands gripping the steering wheel and staring at my home with watery eyes.

Five minutes pass.

Maybe ten.

That’s when I hear the knock on the window. I jump a little before looking over with wide eyes and see two different pairs on me through the glass. Two similar yet different gazes. Then I see the wagging tail next to the smaller person watching me.

Fletcher, Dominic, and Admiral.

From outside, I can hear Fletcher say, “Why don’t you take Admiral home, buddy. You can play video games until I get back. Okay?”

Nicki shrugs, looks from me to his father, then back at me, before taking Admiral’s leash and leading the large dog home.

Fletcher reaches for the door, gives me a look with his brows arched like he’s asking for permission before the door cracks open. I don’t remember unlocking it, but suddenly there’s a body squatting down next to me. “Stevie?”

Stevie. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name.

“What’s wrong?”

My mouth is dry.

My heart is still hammering a little.

I think about the events that unfolded.

Then, I blurt, “I think I committed a crime.”

 

 

“Nicki is at home,” I remind the man filling a kettle that Mom bought me with water and putting it on the stove. “You don’t need to stay.”

I told him I was fine after he coaxed me out of my car and asked me to tell him what exactly had happened. His eyes instantly went to my cheek, and a dark, shadowed expression eclipsed his face.

“Unless you’re going to tell me who did that,” he says ‘that’ with a grim tone, and I know even with his back to me, he’s referring to my slightly sore cheek, “then I think I should stay for a little longer. Nicki will be fine.”

I press my lips together.

He turns the front burner on and places the kettle onto it, then walks over to my fridge, opens the small freezer on top, and digs through a few things before grabbing a bag of green beans. After wrapping it in a dish towel, he passes it to me, and I put it on my cheek without him bossing me.

“Is it…a boyfriend?” His eyes are hard as he stares at where my hand is holding the frozen vegetables. “You can tell me, and I’ll help.”

Boyfriend? “No. It’s… I already told you that I’m not seeing Miles.”

One of his brows arches as if he isn’t sure whether to believe me. “Tell me what happened,” he commands, arms crossing over his chest.

So, I do. It doesn’t take very long, and I make sure to tell him that the man probably didn’t mean to hit me but was just trying to catch his balance. Whatever is going through Fletcher’s mind isn’t obvious to me because the look on his face barely changes.

“Stop making excuses for a man who was drunk and pushing boundaries he shouldn’t have been,” he finally tells me, standing a little straighter. “Regardless of why he hit you, he still laid his hands on you, which he should have never done. Got me?”

Is that the voice he uses on the men on base? I give him a single nod.

“What you did was self-defense,” he informs me, voice a smidge lighter. I know he’s talking about my concern that I assaulted a man and then ran from the scene. The last thing I need is police showing up at my doorstep and being the neighborhood’s latest hot gossip. It wouldn’t be hard to find out where I live since I have no garage to park my bright green car in. “Anyone with half a brain would see it that way.”

I cringe since I hadn’t.

He sighs. “I didn’t mean you.”

I lift a shoulder.

“Next time, make your friend walk you out that way you’re not alone.”

“Then she would have been alone!”

“You could have dropped her off at the door or had somebody who worked at the bar walk you out for safety.”

Once again, he’s telling me I was stupid.

Which, sure. I should have been more cautious. But the last thing I need is for him to keep hounding me about things he doesn’t like me doing.

“I’m not one of your soldiers,” I inform him coolly, grinding my teeth. “You can’t keep talking to me like that.”

“Like what? With reason?”

My nostrils flare. “Like you’re the boss of me. Like I’m some sort of idiot. I don’t appreciate it. Nobody likes being condescended, so get rid of the army voice and start acting a little nicer. This isn’t Fort Drum, and I’m not one of the grunts you’re trying to break in to fit whatever the hell mold you want them to.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But his eyes do narrow.

“You should go,” I murmur.

His sigh is brief but heavy. “I’m not trying to—”

“Please?” I cut him off. “I’m tired.”

When I meet his eyes again, he blinks. Just once, probably replaying the pathetic sound of my voice before he dips his chin. “If that’s what you want, Peaches.”

Peaches?

I don’t even get to really think about the random nickname before he’s gone, the door shutting behind him.